Holy Terror finishes of the last of his Alfredo shell pasta and pinches his face at the green beans. He looks around at the other family member's dishes and stops at Super Wy's. On Super Wy's plate is a nice, untouched serving of Alfredo shell pasta.
Sitting and admiring the wonderful treasure that Super Wy currently possesses, he rolls his lips. His eyes flash like a salesman about to deal.
"Super Wy, you want your noodles?" He puts on his biggest, best, big brother smile.
Super Wy crouches forward a bit, his eyes barely above the plate and snarls. He grabs a piece of tri-tip, dips it in his ketchup-mustard-A1 concoction (I know, gross), and chomps it down.
"Come on. You want to give me your noodles?" Holy Terror's trying to be patient and keep the facade of a loving and supportive brother on...but it's wearing by the glint growing in his eyes.
Super Wy growls and twirls his head clock-wise. He turns to me and curls his lip. "I Godzilla."
"Oh," I say with some respectful exaggeration. "Well, Godzilla. You think Holy Terror could get your pasta?"
He growls.
"I don't speak monster lizard, Honey. Nod your answer so I'll know."
He growls and snarls again while he nods. Holy Terror smiles and wiggles in his seat. I dish over the goods and all is happy.
Just call me the Godzilla Whisperer...
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment